Author's Notes: This was a hard chapter to write. Big things are coming soon but I have to get there first. This chapter starts to explain a few things but felt a little dry compared to earlier chapters. I hope it doesn't disappoint too greatly.

Disclaimer: CBS, Anthony E. Zuiker, Carol Mendelsohn, and Ann Donahue own all rights to the characters and premise of the show. I am making no money off this story and it is for entertainment purposes only. However, this particular story is my creation and should not be used without my express written permission.

Attack

Chapter 8

Looking up from where he sat on the floor of the hospital room, Danny stared at Mac for several minutes before responding.

"Not fucking possible." His tone was low and almost threatening but it didn't appear to phase Mac.

"Why, Danny? Because a coach would never have his players take performance enhancing drugs to ensure a better year in athletics? Come on, Danny; you're smarter than that."

Danny suddenly felt more tired than he'd ever felt in his life. It could have been the sedatives he'd been given but he thought this current malaise creeping over him had more to do with the disappointment and lack of trust he heard in Mac's voice. It wasn't the first time he'd disappointed Mac or the first time he'd felt abandoned by his friend and boss but this time it hurt more than any of the other times put together.

"No, because I am smart enough to know what steroids do to a body. I thought you were too. During the season practically everyone on the high school team took those things religiously every day, sometimes twice a day if a really important game was coming up. Off season, most of us slacked off to maybe two or three a week. I continued that trend during college and my days in the minors. Even though I'm no longer playing I take one every other day or so unless there's a big case that's zapping me and I'll take it once a day. Since the news came out about the PT test, I've definitely upped it to twice a day just to have the energy boost to make it through work AND put in a few extra hours at the gym. Don't you think if I'd been taking steroids for that long, someone would have noticed by now? Have I ever failed a random drug test?"

Mac had to admit the answer was no. The department did so many random tests each month that he had to sign off on that the truth was he didn't really pay attention to the names of the officers who passed, only if something turned up hinky with the test. Danny's name had never crossed his desk with anything suspicious about a test. Danny pressed on.

"Not to mention if I'd been taking steroids for that length of time the side effects would be more than obvious. Things like man boobs the size of Dolly Parton's and a certain other appendage that I'm quite fond of would have probably shrunk to the size of shriveled raisin. And my liver? That would have shut down ages ago. In fact I'd probably be dead if I'd been taking 'roids that long. I would have thought you were smart enough to think of that."

Mac looked down at his hands clasped in his lap. He didn't respond because there was nothing he could say that would fault Danny's logic. Still, he couldn't just turn his back on what the evidence said or the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. As if he could read Mac's thoughts, Danny continued on as if there'd been no pause.

"B-complex, especially B6 and B12, Vitamins D and E, Iron, and Ginger root." Mac looked up confused by Danny's words. The younger man's voice took on a bitter tone. "That's what Coach's Special is made up of. I know because not long after I started at the lab I decided to see; not that I didn't trust Coach but because I was curious to see what the GCMS could do with the sample. That's what the report showed. I think I probably still have the printout in a file somewhere in my desk if you don't believe me."

Unable to read the expression in Mac's eyes to see if he'd even come close to convincing him, Danny plunged on with the fear that his earlier actions had made everything he could say less believable. "Fine, don't trust me. Trust Montana. You just told me that her blood work came back clean."

Finally Mac did speak but his tone gave no indication of his feelings. "Lindsay has taken these 'Coach's Specials'?"

Danny nodded. "After the Holly case, she seemed a little run down; not her usually peppy self." He didn't add that it was right after the disastrous no-show on their date; some things Mac didn't need to know. "She said she hadn't been sleeping so good lately. I had about a dozen or so pills left and was about to get a new bottle so I gave them to her. Assured her that they would give her a safe energy boost until her sleeping habits returned to normal."

"So this batch that tested positive was a new bottle?" Mac pressed, seeing a possibility that might help Danny. "Where do you get them?"

"Stanley's Drug Store near Ma and Pop's place. Old man Stanley worked with Coach Zallina to create the mixture. You gotta have a bottle with Coach's label on it in order to purchase them. Don't want our rivals getting hold of our secret weapon. Zallina died about three years ago but the tradition remains. Old man Stanley turned the drugstore over to his son but still does a lot of the compounding himself. Before you ask, and yeah, I see where you are going with this; I don't think either Mr. Stanley or Jimmy would give me bogus pills. But, the business is good and I don't know all of their employees so it could be possible someone who works for them made a switch."

"I'll send Flack to check them out tomorrow. Danny, you know this doesn't automatically clear you. I hope we find out someone there intentionally changed the pills but unless we have proof, the argument could still be made that you put the steroids in the bottle yourself."

If Lindsay had been sitting in Mac's spot expressing doubt about his innocence, it wouldn't bother Danny. After what he did to her, even if he wasn't aware of what he was doing, he deserved her doubts and fears. He'd willingly take whatever abuse she wanted or needed to heap on him; anything that would help her recover from his actions today. However, he couldn't take another second of the same doubts directed toward him from anyone else. He just didn't have the energy or mental fortitude to handle anymore tonight.

"Yeah, whatever. If you don't mind, I'm beat. I wanted to make sure that Montana was okay and now I'd just like to go to bed."

Mac nodded; knowing that he was at least partially responsible for the defeat he heard in the younger man's voice. He rose from the bed and started to leave, pausing at the door. He turned to look back at Danny. "For what its worth, Lindsay has been your biggest supporter all day. She believes in you one hundred percent."

After the door closed behind him, Danny buried his head in his knees and allowed the tears of frustration he'd been holding back most of the day to flow freely. "It's worth more than you could know."

- CSI: NY - CSI: NY - CSI: NY -

Mac glanced at his watch as he parked outside Lindsay's apartment building. Though the day had seemed forever long, it wasn't so late that he couldn't stop by and see if he could find out more about this neighbor Danny had mentioned. There was something about Danny's story that had struck a chord with Mac, leading the veteran detective almost positive that the apology fruit had something to do with the fading bruises on Lindsay's shoulder and arm. Danny had mentioned that the neighbor was big but had a mental condition. Mac could see Lindsay wanting to protect what she felt was a defenseless man.

He had been to Lindsay's apartment a couple of times. Even though her apartment was small, she liked hosting fun little get-togethers for everyone at the lab. He easily made his way up to the tenth floor of the fifteen story building to Lindsay's apartment. No one was in the hall as he exited the elevator. He tried her door, just to make sure everything seemed secure there as he tried to decide the best way to check out her neighbors.

"You can't be there." A slow deep voice made Mac turn around. A big man had stepped out of the apartment across the hall and two doors down. He certainly matched Danny's description of "big as an ox." Mac couldn't be sure about autism but it seemed pretty clear from his appearance and speech that he was certainly mentally challenged. The newcomer continued. "Miss Lindsay not home. She should be. She went to work before 8 a.m. so she should have been home no later than 6 p.m. but she hasn't come home yet. Must be bad murder. Only time she's still at work this late after going in before 8 a.m. is if it's bad murder."

Mac crossed to join the man. "I'm Detective Taylor. I'm Lindsay's boss. Lindsay was injured at work today and she's staying with me for a few days as she gets better."

The bigger man paled. "Lindsay hurt? Bad? Lindsay is Petey's friend."

"She'll be okay, Petey." Mac assured him. "The doctor just didn't want her to be alone for a day or two with the medicine she was on."

"I got key to her apartment. You show me ID and I let you in."

Mac smiled, glad to see that he wasn't just going to take Mac's word that he was her boss. "Thanks Petey. Maybe later. Looks like you try to take good care of Lindsay."

The other man nodded solemnly. "She's my friend. I live with my brother and sometimes when he's at work and there's a bad storm, she lets me stay with her so I'm not scared. She says it's okay to be scared sometimes. And she never makes me feel stupid when I don't get my words right."

It didn't surprise Mac to hear how compassionate Lindsay was to Petey. He wondered if Petey's brother was working tonight. The grayness of the morning had finally given way to rain late in the afternoon before tapering off but actual storms were predicted within the next couple of hours. Had Petey been watching for Lindsay because he was scared? He was about to ask as delicately as possible when the other man suddenly brightened. "I make Lindsay feel better. Wait here."

He went back into his apartment and returned a moment later with a small jar full of dehydrated fruits. He handed the jar to Mac. "You give that to Lindsay. I maked them myself. Mike – he's my brother – showed me how to cut up the fruit without hurting myself and he bought be a special machine that makes the fruit all smushed up and wrinkly. Lindsay likes them and they'll make her feel better."

This was the opening Mac was hoping for. "I'm sure they will. I think I saw a similar jar on Lindsay's desk at work. Did she get that from you?"

Petey nodded but his head was downcast. "It was part 'pology and part thank you. She didn't tell Mike I hurt her; my brother would have been so mad and probably not let me visit Lindsay any more if he knew. But Lindsay said it was okay that she knew I didn't mean to hurt her."

So much for her story about the subway, not that Mac had believed that to start with. "She didn't even tell me about that. What happened, Petey?"

The other man kicked his foot against the carpet. "I heard her door open and wanted to say hi but she was running toward the stairwell. She looked like she was upset; in fact, she kept bumping into the wall and even bashed against that fire alarm with her shoulder as she ran past but didn't act like she felt it at all. I was worried so I followed her to make sure she was okay. She went all the way up to the roof. I'm not I supposed to go up there because Mike says I'll fall if I get too close to the edge but I thought it would be okay if Lindsay was there too. She didn't even hear me. I think she thought she was somewhere else cause she looked like she was just going to keep walking right off the side of the building. I yelled at her to warn her and grabbed her arm. I wasn't trying to hurt her I promise. Mikes says I'm supposed to hold on to people gently like I'm holding an egg but I was scared. I didn't mean to hurt her. Sometimes I forget I'm so strong. I just didn't want her to fall and get hurt."

Petey looked so upset that Mac had to reassure him. "It's okay, Petey. I'm sure Lindsay wasn't mad about it."

Mac tried to piece together what he could of Petey's story. It certainly explained the bruises. The one on her shoulder would have come from hitting the fire alarm pull box. Glancing down the hallway to where it was located it was easy to see it would be about her shoulder height. Petey's big meaty hands were about the right size for the handprint bruise on her arm. Had her silence been more about protecting her mentally challenged friend or was there more to the story than even Petey knew about? What had upset her so much and what was she planning to do up on that roof? She'd initially said she was trying to protect herself by not saying anything. What was she protecting herself from? Whatever had initially upset her or by what she feared she might have been set to do on that rooftop?

Before today, Mac would have listened to Petey's story and believe the younger man had just misread the situation and over reacted to the situation. Of course before today, he would have also said that Danny wasn't capable of inflicting the damage Mac had witnessed unleashed on Lindsay either. Nor would he have said that Lindsay would have allowed anyone to get past a first punch. But today had happened and everything Mac had held as gospel truth had disintegrated into meaningless mutterings. "Did she tell you what had upset her?"

Petey shook his head. "No, Mike says I'm not supposed to ask a bunch of questions. It must have been really bad though cause she was crying and crying and Lindsay doesn't cry."

A sudden rumble of thunder threatened to shake the building. Petey cringed as if it could physically hurt him. Mac frowned. "Petey, when will Mike be home?" He assumed the boy's brother wasn't at home since he hadn't appeared while Mac was talking to Petey.

"He'll be home in exactly twenty two minutes. He's always on time." There was another rumble of thunder and Petey jumped again.

Mac smiled reassuringly. "Since Lindsay isn't at home, would you like for me to keep you company until your brother gets home? Perhaps you could show me how you make your fruit snacks."

- CSI: NY - CSI: NY - CSI: NY -

Lindsay put the finishing touches on her make-up and gave her softly curled honey locks a quick fluff before checking out the final effects in the mirror. She smiled. She had to admit that she was both excited and nervous about tonight's date. Date. She had a date with Danny Messer. It was almost more than she could believe. Sure they flirted a lot and had a easy camaraderie that had everyone assuming from almost the moment that she'd arrived at the lab that something was brewing between the two. Still, even though she had flipped head over heels for the handsome, very sure of himself, Staten Island native, she'd been sure her feelings would never be reciprocated. Danny could have any woman he set his eyes on, why would he choose a simple, plain girl from Montana? When he had held her in his arms after her brief, almost disastrous stint undercover, she realized that he was shaking almost as much as she was and that he truly cared about her. When he'd asked her out, she'd eagerly said yes.

Now, tonight was the night. In less than an hour and a half she would meet him at the restaurant. She wasn't sure what to expect. She wasn't some sixteen year old virgin out for her first ever date but it also wasn't like she'd had a wealth of experience either. Having grown up with five brothers, she had always felt more like one of the guys around their friends rather than potential girlfriend material. The few serious boyfriends she had both in college and the years after hadn't been too successful and now she was feeling less than confident about measuring up to the voluptuous, sexy women she was sure Danny was used to dating. She had no idea where tonight would lead but she wanted it to be perfect.

Her phone rang and her heart momentarily froze. What if it was Danny calling to cancel? What if he'd thought about everything and decided going out on a date with her was a big mistake? The phone buzzed again and she finally answered it; her heart not beating correctly until she realized the voice on the other end didn't belong to Danny.

"Hey, Hotshot. Miss me?"

She smiled. The one drawback to leaving Bozeman PD had been saying goodbye to her boss and mentor Chief Micah Alexander. She'd known him for practically her whole life and working with him had been like working for a friend. She would never dare try to compare Mac and Micah as bosses; it just wouldn't be fair. "Micah, didn't realize I was supposed to be aiming at you. How are you?"

Outside her family, Micah was really the only one she kept in contact with on a regular basis since leaving Bozeman. Still, getting a phone call from him was a little unusual.

"Fine as frog's hair, Hotshot. I need your help with something."

If she could have packed the aging police chief up in her bags and brought him with her to New York, she would have. He'd been her biggest cheerleader when she'd decided to become a crime scene investigator. He'd even helped convince her parents to support her in her decision. "Micah, I told you; I can't sneak state of the art equipment out from our lab here in New York and ship it back to you in Bozeman."

The day she'd tearfully shown up in his office to tell him she'd been offered the job in New York, Micah had sensed she was torn between her desire to get away from the demons that would forever haunt her in Bozeman coupled with the fantastic boost to her career and her reluctance to leave him after he'd been so supportive. He'd lovingly cupped her chin and given her a wink. Told her of course she had to take the job because he'd heard the New York Crime lab had all kind of fancy equipment they'd never be fortunate to have and she could smuggle some back to them. The fact that her joke didn't even cause him to chuckle told Lindsay something was horribly wrong.

"Hotshot, you near your computer? I just sent you an e-mail of a photo line-up. I need you to make an ID for me."

Lindsay left her bedroom and went to the computer sitting on a small desk in the living room. As she the mouse to wake the computer up from its hibernation, she rested the phone between her shoulder and ear. "I've been gone there for over a year; what case could you possibly need me to do an ID for?"

She pulled up her e-mail and saw the lone message from Micah. She opened the message and forgot how to breathe. There on the third row fourth picture was the face that had haunted her nightmares for a decade.

"Lindsay, darling, we caught him. It took me ten years but I finally kept my word to you. I just need an official ID from you to put the final nail in his coffin." When she didn't answer him, he pressed on. "Hotshot? Can you pick him out? One word from you and it's all over but the legalities." One word would be all it took but Lindsay wasn't capable of speaking, she was having a hard enough time just coaxing air in and out of her lungs. All the other pictures in the e-mail faded to black and only the one face stared back at her as if he were taunting her. "Lindsay, dammit girl, say something or I swear to God I'll call that boss of yours in New York and get him to come check on you."

That spurred Lindsay to be able to utter just enough to appease him. "It's him, Micah. Fourth picture on the third row. How?"

"Doesn't matter how, Hotshot. Only that we got him. I'm not going to ask you if your okay cause I know you're not. I'm sorry I had to get you to do the line-up. I know you well enough to know you gotta process this in your own way so I'm not going to keep you on the line. But I'm gonna call you back in an hour to check on you. If you don't answer, I promise you I'm gonna call your folks, your brothers, every number I got for the New York Crime Lab and sic them on you. Love you, Hotshot. You know that, right?"

Lindsay nodded, forgetting he couldn't see her and then hung up the phone. She sank to her knees not trusting her legs to support her much longer. It was almost as if his eyes in the photograph followed her downward movement. In an instant she was transported back to that evening in the diner, hearing those gunshots, peeking out the bathroom door in time to see a slightly younger version of that face almost proudly surveying the devastation he'd caused to her friends, fearing that in just seconds he would discover where she was hiding. For weeks after the shooting she couldn't close her eyes without seeing his face superimposed behind her closed lids. She'd done everything she could to avoid sleeping trying to escape seeing him. Even as that reaction faded, he still haunted her dreams, causing her to awaken in screams and tears.

Dinner with Danny was forgotten. The fact that she'd essentially hung up on her former boss didn't even register in her mind. She never felt the tears that had risen unbidden to streak down her face. That quiet, small voice in the back of her head that tried to convince herself that his arrest was a good thing, that it meant that her dead friends could finally have justice, went ignored. Only his face staring back at her and the inability to breathe mattered in that instance.

She had to get away from him; the idea that all she had to do was close the e-mail never crossed her mind. Lindsay rose shakily to her feet, desperate for the air that seemed to have permanently abandoned her. She was out of her door and down the hall without even realizing it. She ran in a blind panic, not noticing the wall she kept bumping into nor registering the pain when she rammed her shoulder against the fire pull box on her mad flight toward the stairwell. The only thing that mattered was getting away and finding the air she so desperately needed for her oxygen starved lungs.

Lindsay sat bolt upright in bed, her body shaking and giving in to the urge to draw in deep breaths despite the twinge it caused her ribs. Hearing footsteps coming closer to the bedroom, she quickly laid back down and feigned sleep just as the door opened. She tried to control her breathing so as not to alert Stella. It wasn't that she wanted to deceive her friend and colleague but at the same time didn't want to have to explain what was going on. She was sure Stella would automatically assume she'd been dreaming about what had happened earlier today and Lindsay wasn't sure she had the energy to defend herself or Danny any more that night. After a moment, Stella closed the door without saying a word, apparently convinced that Lindsay was okay.

Once again alone, Lindsay sat up again, rearranging the pillows so that she could rest comfortably or at least as comfortably as possible. Just hours earlier she had lied to Mac about the nature of the bruises on her shoulder and arm. She hadn't known what to do when Mac pressed her for answers. There was no way she could tell him the truth. That would mean explaining about the shooting of the diner. She was sure her friends in New York would understand and sympathize with her pain but one of the reasons she'd left Bozeman was to escape the stigma of being the only one who survived. She didn't want to see the same look of pity in every set of eyes she looked at in the lab; today's attack was going to make that difficult as it was.

She also didn't think she could take the inevitable questions that would arise about her headlong flight to the roof. What had she planned to do once she reached the edge of the building? The truth was she just didn't know. She hadn't been thinking of anything at all but the need to get air. She could honestly say she hadn't given any conscious thought to hurting herself but she also hadn't given thought to anything at all during those desperate moments. Any doubt that Mac might have about her mental state that night if she told him the truth could cost her her career. She couldn't let that happen. The man sitting in the Bozeman jail had already cost her the best friends a teenager could hope for she wasn't about to let him steal her job away from her as well.

- CSI: NY - CSI: NY - CSI: NY -

One of the perks of being the Chief of Detectives was that you got to work pretty normal hours. Usually. Today wasn't that sort of day for Brigham Sinclair. Here it was after 9 pm, hours after he should have called it quits and gone home and he was still sitting at his desk.

His phone hadn't stopped ringing since the news about the attack at the diner had hit the local media. Everyone wanting to know what had happened and how the NYPD was responding to the incident. Every time the phone rang, he'd scooped it up expecting it to be Detective Taylor with the answers he needed for the other fifty times an hour the phone rang. Every time if failed to be him and Brigham's frustration had grown. He'd called and even visited the lab more times this afternoon than he had the entire previous month before. And yet he still had no more answers now than he did when he'd first gotten the call from Mac.

He'd considered going home several hours earlier but figured the calls would just find him there. He'd rather not take his work home with him so instead here he sat waiting for word that he had a sneaking suspicion wasn't coming tonight.

Almost as if because he was thinking about it, it happened; the phone on his desk trilled sharply. He didn't recognize the number that popped up on the display but he plucked up the receiver. "Sinclair."

"The New York Crime Lab is covering up for one of their own." A female voice accused.

Sinclair frowned. It wasn't the first time he'd heard the accusation today but this time it seemed more like a factual statement than a fearful question. Still he offered the same pat answer he'd given everyone else that day. "The lab is investigating an internal matter but I can assure you that there will be no cover-up."

"Then you've been told that Detective Messer's tox report came back positive for steroid use."

"Who is this?" Whoever this person was, she seemed to know more than he did about the matter.

"I'd rather not say; I'm worried about reprisals by reporting Mac Taylor. He knows his favorite CSI has been taking illegal drugs but he's covering up the truth until he can spin things to make it look like Danny wasn't responsible. It's not fair to the rest of the lab or to Detective Monroe who had to get hurt because of his mistakes."

Turning to his computer, Sinclair typed in the phone number that had appeared on his caller ID. As he waited for the results to come up, he tried once more to reassure the woman on the other line. "I can protect you against any kind of reprisals. Have you seen this report for yourself? How did you get your information?"

"Don't let them get away with this. Someone has to protect the integrity of the lab."

His search result popped up just as the female hung up. Sinclair sucked in his breath. The phone belonged to Lindsay Monroe.